


Supplicant

by honey_wheeler



Category: Red Rising Trilogy - Pierce Brown
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 03:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6313591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darrow is on his knees. It’s become a familiar position, mostly at the hands of his enemies. So often he’s looked up into the face of death only to be saved time and again. He doesn’t look up at death now, though. He looks at salvation itself.</p><p><b>Major spoilers through the end of <i>Morning Star</i></b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supplicant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefairfleming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/gifts).



Darrow is on his knees. It’s become a familiar position, mostly at the hands of his enemies. So often he’s looked up into the face of death only to be saved time and again. He doesn’t look up at death now, though. He looks at salvation itself.

Mustang looks back down at him, haughty, amused, fond. His hands make a slow drag up her thighs as he inches up her skirt, a heavy, ceremonial affair that she’d complained bitterly about as a veritable squadron of Pinks dressed her in their chambers. She’s not surprised at him on his knees before her. He’d been the first to kneel for her as Sovereign, pledging himself to her in front of the entire Senate. He kneels again and again for her now, not as his Sovereign but as a woman. As his wife.

“You’ll make me late,” she gasps at the first touch of his tongue on her. He doesn’t care. Neither does she, come to that. He shoulders her thighs apart, threads his arms between her legs and braces his hands against the wall behind her as he tastes and teases her. The days he kept her at arm’s length seem a dozen lifetimes away. It’s hard to imagine, with the taste of her bursting on his tongue like the richest delicacy, that there was ever a time he denied himself this, ever a time that his secrets kept them apart. In this moment, Darrow has never been anything but hers.

“That,” she gasps. Her fingers are a painful twist in his hair. “Do that again.”

Darrow would smile if he could. He’ll do that and more, for as long as she’ll let him. Even when he was a randy boy of 16, so astounded he could touch a woman like this that it was all he wanted to do, he never felt quite this degree of need, of heady, sensuous desperation. Maybe it’s age, maybe the stark danger of the intervening years making any scrap of joy all the more irresistible. Or maybe it’s Mustang. Maybe he’s simply addicted to her.

Her breath unravels like a knitted cloth, his tongue tucked in her cunt the tug at a fraying edge to start it. There’s never been any shyness to her, no coy games or hesitation when it comes to pleasure. She leans into it, in a way so at odds with her usual careful deliberation. The contrast has always been potent, all the way back to those days at the Institute together when she’d made no secret of her attraction to him. She’d been a distraction then. Now she’s nothing less than a marvel, a challenge, a gift. For the millionth time, Darrow wonders at his luck, that such a rarefied woman permits him these intimacies, that she loves and wants him as much as he does her. It seems an impossible thing in such a wildly unpredictable world, that everything could have combined in such a way to allow this, despite all the odds against them. It would have taken so little to rob them all of everything, only the most minute of changes and everything would have fallen apart. If her duty now is to the world they’ve started, his duty is to her. As he moans against her, her flesh warm and wet and alive beneath his tongue, he can only think that it’s the sweetest duty he’s ever had in his life.

Mustang twitches and jerks against him, her weight falling more fully on his braced arms, the beading on her gown scratching his forehead. Usually she wears the same sorts of clothes she’d ever worn before becoming Sovereign, twill trousers and tunics and boots. She hates the events that require stiff, formal garb, but Darrow’s found he rather likes them. They’re such a change for her. They make her look like some sort of sacred priestess of old, especially now as she shudders in climax with her back arched and her throat bared. She’s as beautiful in surrender as she is in war and he’s seized by a fierce, savage pleasure that she’s as much his as he is hers.

“Are you quite finished?” Her words lack any bite; she can barely get them out, really. Darrow grins against the bare skin of her hip, pressing kisses into her skin and then licking clean the traces of her pleasure that his lips leave behind.

“That depends,” he says. “Are you?”

She laughs, the sound as bright as sunlight, and gives his head a fond shake with the hand she still has fisted in his hair. “No, sadly, but more will have to wait until after this consecration. I’ll be late as it is, thanks to you.”

Darrow drops one more kiss between her thighs, chaste at first, only flicking his tongue at her sensitive clit as he pulls away. Her thighs tremble and her knees give as he drops his arms and her legs take up her weight again. It’s an astonishing thing, to see such a strong woman made so weak from pleasure. Darrow’s accomplishments in life shouldn’t pale to the relatively simple feat of making Virginia au Augustus weak in the knees, but he can’t deny that sometimes they do.

“I have no regrets,” he tells her. “Besides, the Sovereign isn’t late. All others are merely early.”

Mustang laughs again. “Heard that little saying on a holo, did you?”

“Something like that.” Her skirt falls heavily to her ankles. He doesn’t need the hand she offers him to rise to his feet, but he takes it anyway. Despite the rush that she should be in, she pulls his face to hers and kisses him leisurely, thoroughly, claiming his mouth with all her authority as his Sovereign and his wife. “We’ll pick up where we left off once the consecration is done,” he promises.

She bites his lip and gives him a wolfish smile. “Then this will be the fastest consecration in the history of the Society,” she vows. And if there’s one thing Darrow has learned to do, it’s take her at her word.


End file.
